Burrowed

Burrowed under her duvet, snuggling close to the pillow on her right she was in that state where she was half asleep but half awake. Where everything was blurry and it felt like she was in a dream. Lately, without him, things were hazy.

The house, dead quiet, everybody tucked into beds. The vibration of the phone on her side board ringed through the room. The phone stopped ringing and she slipped into oblivion.

A pulse lapsed and the quivering of the table started again. Groaning she smacked her hand all over the table trying to locate her phone. Her hand hit the metal case and she squinted at the screen in the dark. Unknown number. God! Whimpering she swore if it was a prank call she would strangle the person on the other side.

“Hello?” clearing her throat she croaked.

“I’m out by the rose shrubs. Get up. Get dressed. We’re going for a ride.” She could recognize his voice even if a billion people were talking at the same time. How could she forget the late night arguments and hours of silences. The tremor in his voice when he would stifle a laugh brought chills down her spine. The way his voice broke when he was about to cry and the thunder in his voice when life became too much for him. 

“What are you talking about? Look I’m sleepy right now. If you’re dying to meet me, we’ll meet tomorrow at the café.” She shut her eyes tightly. Not this time. She did not want the same set-up playing over and over again.

“Come out or I’m coming in to get you, through the front door besides I haven’t met your granddad in ages. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see me.” She could hear the smirk in his voice. She pinched her nose.

“Fine. Give me ten.” She threw the phone on her bed.  Why can’t she ever say no to him? She knows how this goes every single time. She should have asked him to leave. How long were they going to creep around reality? They were not adolescents anymore. Life had dealt its fair hand with them. It was time he grew up.

She struggled to stir as quietly as possible through the room. She slipped on her red skater skirt. Pulling a black sweater over her head, she grabbed her biker boots. A gift from him, from all those years before. He found it amusing how she never grew out of them. She saw it as a sign that she could never get rid of his phantom.

She locked her bedroom door from the inside, lest her grandma wanted to check in on her. She pulled at the rusty window. The only times when it was opened was when she was sneaking her way out of the house to meet him. Grabbing her boots with her teeth she slipped down the water pipe. On her way down she missed a beat. Oh she sure was getting rusty. Jumping down she put on her boots and started to walk to the back of the house just where the forest started.

He was a vision at midnight, leaning on his crimson beloved heavy bike. Sinewy denim clad legs crossed at the ankles. Lit cigarette (or was it hash) dangling dangerously from his mouth. His hopeless long inky black curls blowing in the wind.

 Her parents love was just like the roses her father had planted for her mother. White. Pure. This was the kind of love she had hoped she would have for someone one day. But what was between them did not have a name, did not have a label. He was her childhood friend. Her enemy through highschool. Her confidant. Her advisor. Her solace. Her midnight trysts. Her love beneath the stars. Her home. Her everything. The bond between them had no specific color. It was pink like his pills. Blue like his jeans. Grey like his smoke. Black like their dreams.

“I’m not sure how I’ll be driving when you will be right behind me wearing this tight little red skirt.” His eyes roamed over her small figure. She shivered under his gaze almost, almost feeling his hands all over her.

“You are drunk. And you might also be high. I’m not sure if we should even get on that death trap.” She peered into his feral eyes the color of the forest lining the edge of her backyard.

“I’ll drive sloooowly.” He dragged out the last word, teasing her. Throwing a deadly smile, he leaned into her and blew on her face. Her untamed ash brown curl fluttered over her eyes. He smelled of barley wine and cheap feminine cologne.

“Screw a girl before calling me up?” she raised a brow, crossing her arms. Suddenly she felt too exposed. How many times was this going to happen? Him banging someone and then approaching her for a midnight expedition around town. Her question altered his demeanor. His eyes had a far-away look in them. Sweetness and danger. He could not expect her to not question his motives.  He throws his cigarette on the ground, crushing out the flames like he had crushed her compassion one too many times. He moves slightly towards his bike, lifting a helmet and handing it over to her. She took his silence as a confirmation. No one compares to him.

“How’s your research going?” they both placed their helmets on their heads. He jump started the bike, before she straddled behind him.

“DNA loves me.” Her voice was devoid of emotions. With him not around anymore her life had been drab. She cautiously placed her arms under his. He halted. The warmth of her body filled his heart. He covered her hands with his, roughly pulling her close to him. She screeched at the abrupt pull. Before resting her chin on his shoulder. She loved the thrill of the rush.

“This is how I like us. You flushed against me.” He whispered quietly over the frosty breeze. He did not expect her to have heard him, but she did. And she tried to ignore the hum drum of her heart, hoping it was not too loud for him to have heard it in the silence. He would do this every time, talk pretty words, and strut around in all his glory before he would up and leave. Change his number. Change city or country.  No letters. No calls. No messages. No post cards. Nothing. He would suddenly turn all cold. All dead. Only hell knows where he has been.

They were driving through her street till the sky got big. Head lights off. He did not want to wake up all the oldies and have them peeping out their living room curtains watching her and him sneaking away for the night again.

“Every single night that I spend with you, I wonder if it will end like all the others, in ashes, or are we going to walk through utopia together.” She was giving him a chance to take in her heart. She hoped he would not snub her. She could not deal with the loss of their love after the loss of their drugs, their dreams and their rage.

“I can’t promise you more than one night. I don’t want to hurt you, love. And I would hurt you if I would promise you something I could never give you.” He parked the bike under their tree. Hopping off, he grabbed her by the waist and helped her out of her seat. Setting her on her feet he pulled her closer. No matter how secured they were to each other, skin on skin, he always wanted more.

He snaked his arms around her waist. Her breath quickened, her breasts heaved against his chest. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her fragile features. Her deep brown eyes. Her long lashes caressing her cheeks. Her rosy red lips, tempting him. He felt like time had stopped. Here and now was everything. This night was all they had till whenever.

His eyes met hers. And he moved in. Grasping the moment. Grasping her lips. One last time. He was selfish. He wanted her. He wanted her everything. Her lips. Her hair. Her laughter. Her tears.  Her quiet. Her chaos. Her feelings. Her dreams. Her past. Her present. Her future. He wanted to be in her. He wanted to be in everything she saw and everything she dreamed of. He wanted to roam in her veins. He wanted to see the world with her. He wanted to conquer the world with her. He wanted to be everywhere for her. 

She felt hot to the touch. She was on fire. She threaded her hands through his hair, tugging at them. He grabbed her hips.  She bit his lip. When she moaned against his lips he felt like a golden god. She could feel him everywhere. In the air. In her heart. She felt she was going to come apart with all that she could sense in that moment.

They came up for air. Their eyes still closed. Not wanting to let go of this. Trying to prolong the sensation for a second more. Not knowing if they had tomorrow. Foreheads pressed together. Gasping for more.

He took to the earth under the tree with his knife. Trying to dig out the alcohol stash they had buried in there back when they were still kids and had not seen the world. He found a cheap champagne bottle after a while.

“This will suffice?” he raised the bottle towards her.

“Yup more than what we deserve at the moment.” She grabbed the bottle, unscrewing the cork and taking a swig directly from the bottle.

“Woah woah slow down tiger!” recklessly laughing he snatched the bottle from her. He gripped her hand and started running towards the closed amusement park. He set the bottle down. Clutched her hips and hoisted her over the gate. Giggling she landed on the dewy grass. He threw the bottle to her and then scrambled the gate himself.

“Where to first, madam?” he bowed down, flaying his arm. The picture of a perfect gentleman, everything he was not. He peeked from under his hair. Looking like a school boy. She tapped her index finger on her chin.

“Hmm. To the stars, sire. To the stars.” She flew her arms up in pure bliss and then clasped his arm, pulling him up and towards the merry go round. With wasted hearts and cheery faces they got up on the first two horses.

“How did it feel like selling your soul to Costa Nostra?” she asked too artlessly for the question to have just crossed her mind. It had been going round since last year that he had started his own gang. Did it matter to her? Yes it did. He had so much potential in him. He could reach the sky. If he wanted to. Brightest kid in the class. Wasting away for what? Satisfied with a life he did not deserve, why?

“The world waits with bated breaths for people like me to slip. And when we do the world says I told you so. I tried to act like I didn’t come from the wrong side of the tracks, tried to act all high and mighty. Believed for a while that I had a brain. That I had a shot at life. That I would not end up overdosing on mary jane like my dad. I tried the right way. Oh! God knows I tried the right way. But nobody gave me a chance. So guess what? I had to fend for myself in this big bad world, all alone. Not a soul by my side. And I can’t stop what I love to do. So I do not give a damn if you, with your good girl faith and the world at your feet, judge me. Go ahead. Be my guest. ”

He guffawed. A broken, sad chuckle. All she wanted to do was hug him. Pick him up and try to hold him together again. But she could not help a man who did not want to be helped. She wanted to fill the empty void in his chest and his life.  Wanted to help him defeat his doubts and his ghosts.

“Can you be mine? Can you be mine?” he heaved a sigh, tired of this world. Tired of running away from her. Like a light she always lured him in. Now only wanting to feel her embrace. All they had done their lives was touch and go.

“I just can’t get you out of my head. You. You have taken over my brain and my heart.” She found it funny how she was going through the exactly same state as him. He carried on, while slipping from the horse. She mirrored his movements. And there they stood, face to face. Heart to heart.  Like all those times before and all the times to come. He slipped out of his leather jacket. He pushed it over her shoulders, bringing the lapels together pulling her close to him.  He kissed her fiercely. She tried to melt into his hands. Pulling at his white t shirt, roving her hands all over him trying to commit to memory the touch of him before he vanished again. Was she what his heart desired? Could she break through his world? All this didn’t matter. Then and there, under the dark sky, where no stars flickered, all they knew was love. And so they loved and loved and loved.

Till they glowed.

Will you teach me how to dance your dance? With your cheeks smarted red. And the collar of your favorite shirt still damp with her tears. With your cigarette corrupted lungs and the tiny slip on your tongue. And my sweaty palms shaking against your shoulders. I will step on your feet. And you will demand a touch in return. I will protest and you will die a million deaths in a single breath. I will sway under the dusty chandeliers with you one last time before we disintegrate into nothing as the fainting sun's fading light glistens against my hazel eyes and your eyelashes let the moondust flicker to the marble floor. Can i have this dance? Let me bury my love.

You are soon going to say adieu to your adolescence. The dried leaves are soon going to abandon their lovers of spring and sweep down kissing the cobblestones of courtyards. The vines on my walls will soon be wrenched away with the onset of the bitter winter. They will look so bare, so naked without their traitors. Just like the reflection screaming back at me unveiled a bruised ego, a stripped identity. Who am I? Where do I belong? How did it get this bad? It has always been a cold war for me to bring the syllables scraping at my cage to my withered portal and you knew that but you still swirled the eight letters with the clouds from your ending fags. I bet you were red when you said you did not care. 

When I die you will wander deserts begging people to love you with the same eccentricity I loved you with. You will never find anyone with my wicked mind or my crooked arrogance. When I leave, you will be left with nothing except an unforgettable story. You will be left with these wailing walls. This sorrowful youth. My traces on every corner of every path you will take. Screaming silences. And wonder on the face of death.

I never wanted him for his Morettis, his Royces or his Lindman's. I wanted him for the hurricanes in his arctic eyes. For the rains his despondency had on the charcoal pavements of my heart. For the way he danced in the dark with no music on, his heart thundering hundred a mile. For the way his lower lip bled ruby red, with his hazy dazed irises patched blue. For the way his smirk dusted away the grey on my palms. He was such a sight. Such a story. Such an end.

On the muddy couch
In the Paris coffee cup
On the wailing of the 5 month Ted down three doors
In the mint green soup bowl
On the beep of a new unread message
In the crystal vase
On the navy blue bed
In the frayed pages of my diary
On the ringing of that red phone
In the edges of my heart
On the broken black swings
In the blood that floods the sink
On the pelting of October rains on the window sills
In the remains of my brains splattering the fuchsia floor
On the beat of Big Dipper
In the crevices of my bones
On the swinging of the door of that bistro 
In the folds of my tummy

Under my skin 
I can still find you

Now you are knocking at my door at 4 am begging me to let the part that loved you dance with your pride tonight. Guess what? I carved that part of my heart out and flushed it away with the touch of your hands at my pulse and your drugged gaze at the carvings on my palm, along with the section of my tongue that naively proclaimed its love for you in the rays of the blood sun. Give my condolences to the 'I' I used to be.

He asked me, “ Who do you believe in?” I told him,

 “I believe in this decayed heart.

 These hollow eyes.

These story spilling thin lips.

This hand that blackens pages.

These feet that ran the hell away

 From the inferno that you were.

These breaths that I take that are proof that I did,

 I can and I will survive,

Without everything and everyone.

These nails that scrape at sins.

 These ears that heard

One too many times the lies you spewed.

This tongue that has savored

 The splintering of the screwed soul.

I believe in my damn self.”

 

But you hurt me. And this I could never forget after all the days and the seconds that passed. Yes it was always in the back of my mind nagging me like the door left unlocked at night. Our relationship was bittersweet, citrusy. I wanted it. You needed it. But you would break my soul into tiny little pieces and watch them scatter on the marble kitchen floor. So when you were gone by god I cried into the early hours of the morning. Haha. You knew I’ve always been ravenous for the scraps of love/normalcy you threw at me. You knew me because you saw much of your demons in me and this irked you. The sparkle in my eyes had died when I met you so I might not have changed when you were gone but I did when I finally MET you, the real you. I did not mourn much in this world’s eyes but I wish they could see the scars that are still healing on my soul.